


tagetes tenuifolia

by ferbiedragon



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Breastfeeding, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Multi, Self-Harm, Trans!Beau, Trans!Caduceus, and not everyone copes in the healthiest ways, but not like kinky breastfeeding, especially caleb, genderqueer!Molly, just a baby that needs to eat, so warnings for that, these guys have a lot of problems
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-30
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:41:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 20,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28276239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ferbiedragon/pseuds/ferbiedragon
Summary: yasha and beau have a baby, and she changes... everything.in the best possible way.
Relationships: Beauregard Lionett/Yasha, Fjord/Mollymauk Tealeaf, Jester Lavorre/Caleb Widogast, Yeza Brenatto/Nott | Veth Brenatto
Comments: 25
Kudos: 93





	1. felicitations in order

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which introductions are made

# Darrington Music Press 

### A "Mighty" Exciting Night 

  
By Taryon Darrington  
Doty  


  
  


  
  


* * *

We here at Darrington Music Press have said it before, and we shall say it again: there is never a dull night when The Mighty Nein are set to perform!

  


TM9 are absolutely a band worth listening to, and this journalist has spent enough time in the presence of great bands to know when one is truly something special. Although our time with Vox Machina was shorter than most of the band members (frequent readers of DMP will recall that this journalist once toured with VM, when their lead guitarist Scanlan Shorthalt left the band to handle personal matters), it has given us a fascinating insight into the personal world of professional musicians. Not that we wish to brag, of course. In any case. 

  


Fresh from their "Rumblecusp" tour (and selling out at each venue along the way), The Mighty Nein were invited to perform at "The Dim's Inn" in Rosohna, the location of their somewhat infamous "Xorhaus". As usual, the night of their concert opened to standing room only, as hundreds of people flocked in to see (and hear) the show. This reporter was lucky enough to have backstage access (never underestimate the power of a press pass!). Otherwise, it seems unlikely that we here at DMP would have had much in the way of a firsthand account of the excitement to provide our dear readers!

  


We were greeted backstage by the band manager, Beauregard Nydoorin (nee Lionett), who informed us, as always, that we would only be allowed to stay provided we "behaved". This intrepid journalist would like to report that we were remarkably well-mannered and polite, although we would also like to report that this is always the case. 

  


The show began as many of The Mighty Nein's performances do; with a dark stage, a single man with a cat on his back, and a crowd standing in total silence, awed by the sight. Caleb Widogast is well-known for his work as the song-writer of The Mighty Nein, but many who are new to this band do not quite expect the dour, sad-looking man with the tabby cat on his shoulders to be quite as good at setting a mood as he is. The somber intonations of his voice as he recites hand-selected poetry from various poets is difficult to describe, even for one with as extensive a vocabulary as ourselves. It reminds us of old Zemnian fairy-tales, whimsical and full of magic, but also terribly macabre.

  


Widogast's choice tonight, you may ask? _Change_ , by Kathleen Raine. If we may quote:

  


_You are changing  
said death to the maiden, your wan face  
To memory, to beauty._

  
__

__

_Are you ready to change?  
Says the thought to the heart, to let her pass  
All your life long_

  
__

_For the unknown, the unborn  
In the alchemy  
Of the world's dream?_

  


_You will change,_  
_says the stars to the sun,_  
_Says the night to the stars._

  


Although we are aware that Widogast has surprised many with his assortment of abilities, we do not believe that he is capable of seeing the future. Yet, somehow, his choice of poetry for the opening was incredibly poignant, given how soon change would indeed be coming. It is possible, of course, that the poem was meant to allude to the drummer Yasha Nydoorin (wife of our previously mentioned friend Beauregard), eight months and some weeks pregnant by our rough estimate, and certainly in a position to see an abrupt change in her near future.

  


While this might have been meant as a sort of homage by Widogast, a salute to the change to come, it seems unlikely to us that anyone expected the night to turn out in quite the way it did.

  


The starting number began shortly after Widogast's recitation (and the subsequent, and quite impressive, pyrotechnics), and Jester Lavorre took the stage like a hurricane, as she always does. This reporter admits that we lost ourselves somewhat in the moment, as 'The Traveler' is one of our favorite TM9 pieces. 

  


The set list was impressive, as always, and the band members were focused and prepared, ready to give the city in which they live a show to remember. We were particularly impressed by the work of one Mollymauk Tealeaf during 'Eyes of Nine' (his skill with his bass cannot be stressed enough) and with Fjord Stone during 'Captain Tusktooth' (the only current piece of music where the somewhat shy half-orc steps out from behind his keyboard to sing). Caduceus Clay spent his time seated upon the floor of the stage, cradling his instrument of choice for the night, a lap harp, played so expertly that one might wonder how he manages to switch between such esoteric instruments so freely and still maintain such a baseline of excellence.

  


The show was halfway finished, according to the set list when things shifted, rather abruptly. We had taken only a moment to speak with Widogast , as we have frequently struggled to interview him without his friend, Veth Brenatto (who has the somewhat questionable title of "Band Mom") shooing us away from "her boy". She _did_ stand by and watch us warily (which we felt unwarranted, given that we continuously strive to make those we speak to comfortable), but Widogast himself seemed, if not confident, then at least somewhat assured he was in no danger from us. We had just broached the subject of future projects when there was a sudden and discordant crash from the main stage. 

  


The music had stopped, and our attention was rapidly drawn to Yasha, who now stood behind her drumset with a look of what this reporter would describe as "total shock" upon her face. We cannot be certain, but we suspect the cause was the sudden pool of water beneath her feet. We are not a medical professional, but we have seen enough sitcoms to know when someone's water has broken.

  


'Chaos' does not begin to describe the situation which then followed. The band rushed to get their laboring drummer off-stage (Beauregard was the first to reach her wife, which is, in our opinion, incredibly romantic) but all of their efforts were made difficult by the fact that each of them seemed to be attempting to do the exact same thing at the exact same time. Beauregard is quoted here as saying, 'This wasn't part of the birth plan!' with increasing volume and rising stress, and Veth spent more than a few minutes screeching for 'hot water and towels', which concerned us, as we didn't believe 'backstage at a music venue' to be an appropriate place to give birth (although we are not in a position to judge, truthfully, as we have never done so ourselves). In the moment, our presence was somewhat forgotten, and we were loathe to draw attention to it just then, as it seemed everyone was rather preoccupied.

  
It was not until Caduceus Clay, rising to his full and impressive firbolg height (7'2", according to a brief search of the internet) said, "Hey," in a voice that, while hardly a shout, commanded their attention nevertheless, that any headway was made at all. We have been informed now that he is a registered midwife, which is, in our opinion, an excellent vocation to possess when one has a close friend and coworker who is heavily pregnant, although we are certain that no one intended for the baby to come quite so soon.

  


In any case, a trip to the emergency room seemed inevitable, but the hospital was far, and traffic on the street was bad, so it was quickly decided that an ambulance would take more time than was currently available before "the big event". To quote Yasha, "this baby is coming _now_." Luckily (or _un_ luckily, depending on if one were to ask the driver) a cab was quickly located just down the road from "The Dim's Inn" and Beauregard and Clay (with Yasha supported between them) quickly took off down the sidewalk. They all bundled up into it and set off for the emergency room.

  


We have, as of this moment, received notification that Yasha and Beauregard Nydoorin are now the proud mothers of a healthy baby girl. It has been requested that the media respect the new family's right to privacy at this time, something we are glad to do. We understand that TM9 will be taking a brief hiatus from live performances to allow the new parents time with the baby. 

  


To Beauregard and Yasha, we here at DMP would like to extend our heartfelt felicitations and, to the members of The Mighty Nein, we would like to say, congratulations on a performance that no one is likely to forget any time soon.

 _ _ _  
___

* * *

 _ _ ____

“So she’s, like… kind of ugly, right now.”

It’s the first thing Beau says to the other members of the Mighty Nein (rock band extraordinaire) as they all cram into the hospital room she and Yasha have called home for the last 24 hours. It’s not a large room, so it’s sort of cramped, but they’ve been in worse conditions before. Shit, they’d spent six months in a touring bus, with very little extra space. Compared to that, a hospital room is nothing.

 _“Beau,”_ Yasha admonishes, but she does it softly. “She is not. She’s beautiful.” Then she looks down at their daughter, bundled in her arms and held against her chest like she thinks someone is gonna come in and take her (over Beau’s dead body), and she smiles, all tired and gentle, and Beau feels her heart clench up in her chest.

Yasha seems exhausted, but also a fuck-ton of a lot better than she had this morning; Beau remembers how _wrecked_ she’d looked, sweaty and red-faced, with her teeth clenched so hard Beau had half expected them to start cracking.

Still beautiful, though, even when she’d screamed and raged and almost broken Beau’s hand with the force of her grip. Even when she’d almost grabbed a nurse by the throat when he’d suggested she try to keep it down. Even when she’d shit herself.

 _Fuck,_ Beau thinks, and sighs softly as she looks at her wife. _I am **so** gay._

“Uh, I mean, she’s _gorgeous_ , don’t get me wrong.” Beau hurries to correct herself. “She’s just, like. Scrunched up, kind of? And her head is sort of, uh, cone-shaped.”

“That’s normal!” Veth announces with an air of authority. She crosses the room and deposits a small potted cactus with little pink flowers on the windowsill, along with a card. “When Luc was born, he looked like a pickled radish for two weeks! I still thought he was cute, though.”

“Oh, Beau! Yasha!” Jester’s carrying what Beau can only describe as _a shitload_ of doughnuts. The label on the side says they’re from the bakery she likes best, so Beau knows immediately they’re probably covered in icing and sprinkles. “I can’t wait to meet her! Where should I put these?”

“I’ll take it,” Caduceus offers as he walks in. He looks up at Beau and Yasha and smiles tiredly. He’s looking better than the last time Beau saw him, too-- he’s been home and had a shower, at least, and changed his clothes. It also probably helps that he’s not still bent nearly in half in the back of a taxi, the fur up to his elbows matted in amniotic fluid. Not really the sort of look that works for… anyone. “Everyone doing alright?”

“Caduceus! You were so a-may-zing!” Jester hands him the box. “I, like, totally didn’t have _any_ idea what to do, but you were just right there!”

“I dunno, Jester, I don’t think _anyone_ knows what to do when their drummer goes into labor during a concert,” Beau reassures her friends. “Like, if Cad weren’t so… _Cad_ , he probably would have freaked out, too.”

Caduceus offers a shrug. "Just seemed pretty obvious to me what to do," he says. He finds space for the box of doughnuts on the top of the plastic bassinet in the corner, which is meant to hold the newborn, but hasn't really been used much. Not since Yasha woke up from her nap, anyway. 

"You are a trained midwife." Caleb says from his position near the door, where he's been since they all first showed up. "It only makes sense you would know what to do." He looks a little uncomfortable, but Beau figures it's probably because they're in a hospital which, like, she absolutely gets. Hospitals suck, and the only reason she's still hanging around in this one is because her wife and kid are here.

 _Fuck_ , how weird does that sound? _Wife and kid._ She likes it, though. She really fucking does.

Caleb sees her looking at him, and lifts a hand in greeting. "Congratulations," he says. Despite his discomfort, he smiles, then reaches into his pocket and produces something wrapped in plastic, which he offers over to her. "I think this is traditional."

Beau takes the object and inspects it. It looks like a cigar. Her brow furrows. "Uh, thanks," she mutters. "...wait, dude, you know I don't smoke, right?"

Caleb clicks his tongue. " _Ja_ , of course, but if you read the label, you will see it's chocolate." 

A cursory inspection proves him right. "Oh. Well then, yeah, awesome. Thanks." She grins.

He shrugs. "It is traditional, like I said." He hunches his shoulders, and Beau wonders if he's missing Frumpkin just then. He usually keeps his cat resting across his neck and shoulders, but it seems doubtful that the hospital would let most animals inside the building. For all that Frumpkin does for her friend, it's kind of hard to sell most businesses on the idea of a 'service cat'. Even if that is basically what he is. 

"Cay-leb!" Jester gasps. "You didn't tell me you were bringing _chocolate_ cigars!"

"It was only the one," Caleb scratches his chin. "Well, two, one is for Yasha, but..."

"It was really sweet of you!" Jester beams at him, and his cheeks turn red. Jester doesn't seem to notice as she continues. "I just hope you have more, because I want one, too! Oh! And we should _also_ get the other kind, the ones that are made of gum?"

"Those pink and blue ones? Ugh, no thanks," Beau scowls. "Those were always kinda weird to me. Like, 'hey, congrats on the kid, I got you a fuckin'... candy cigar that's the color that corresponds to their genitals', or whatever. Kinda gross." She can't help but think about the way her dad had acted when her brother was born. Blue candy cigars for everyone, and he'd looked her in the eyes when he'd handed her one, too, like he was telling her how glad he was to finally have the son he'd always wanted.

Asshole.

"Oh. Yeah, that is sort of gross." Jester puts her hands on her hips, lips pursed as she thinks. "Well, we _could_ just get a whole bunch of them in both colors. Then it isn't all 'baby genitals'," she makes air-quotes around the word, "It's more like cotton candy!"

"That sounds nice," Caduceus says.

"Oh! Jester! We could raid the hospital gift shop," Veth says, patting her tiefling friend on the arm to get her attention. "I bet they have a ton of those things! And some other stuff we could use, too. Maybe balloons? Or shirts. We should get shirts that say 'Team Auntie'!" 

"I _love_ that," Jester gushes. She turns, clasping Veth's hands in both of hers. "And we could get streamers and confetti and also _probably_ some stuffed animals, probably, and cover the whole room in them!"

"Uh," Beau starts to interject. "I'm not sure if we wanna start a party in the actual hospital."

" _Ja_ , it might be best to wait until they are home..." Caleb's blackened fingertips are getting dangerously close to his mouth, and Beau is starting to wonder if she's gonna have to say something. Definitely don't need him chewing his fingernails to bloody stubs. Again. 

"But it would be so _pretty_ ," Veth insists. "We didn't get to have a real baby shower, anyway, so we should do a party now!"

"Yes!" Jester grins from ear to ear, her tail curling excitedly over her back. "Do you think they have a bakery? We could get a cake~"

"You brought doughnuts already," Caduceus points out. 

Jester huffs a sigh. " _Yes_ , okay, but those aren't _cake_ , it's different! For a baby-welcoming-party, you need cake."

"I was not aware there were rules for a party like that," Caleb murmurs, crossing his arms. 

"There _totally_ are, Caleb," Jester nods sagely. "We need a _cake_ , and _decorations_ , and also technically we should have presents, too, technically, for the baby."

Caleb's lips quirk into a faint smile. "I think you're just making that up as you go, Blueberry."

She gasps. " _Cay_ -leb! I would never." She puts a hand to her chest. "Baby-welcoming-parties are _very serious_ business."

"Is that a rule from your friend the Traveler?" He quirks a brow.

"It could be! He likes parties." Jester shrugs. "You know, I asked if he wanted to come and say 'hello', but he said no."

Silently, Beau thanks the universe for small miracles. The last thing she needs is that weird Archfey prank-god around her kid. 

"My parents had ceremonies for us when my siblings and I were babies," Caduceus muses. "Those were to introduce us to the Wildmother, though, and only after we were a year old, so... it might not be the same thing." He pauses, and scratches at his chin thoughtfully. "...we did have cake, though. Clarabelle put her hands in hers." His eyes narrow. "...pretty sure Colton shoved my head in mine."

"I saw a bakery on the way here!" Veth pipes up. "It was just down the road, we could just go and get a cake! Right now!"

Beau senses that the situation might be getting out of hand. "Listen, guys, I love a party as much as the next person, but I'm pretty sure they don't let you get rough and rowdy in the hospital." It feels _really_ fucking weird to be the voice of reason speaking out _against_ a party. Maybe parenthood is changing her, already. Or, more likely, maybe spending time around Fjord is starting to actually pay off.

"We wouldn't get _that_ rough," Veth insists, propping a hand on her hip. 

"Last time we had a party, you jumped off a banister and broke a pool table," Beau reminds her.

Veth makes an indignant noise. "That was different! Mollymauk bet me three gold I wouldn't do it. I had to--"

"Where _is_ Molly?" Yasha's quiet, ashy voices breaks through the commotion. They all look at her, and then Beau straightens up, furrowing her eyebrows as she realizes that, yeah, Yasha's right. The purple tiefling _isn't_ here, and that's... weird. Come to think of it...

"Yeah, and where's Fjord?" She asks. 

"Oooh. Molly wanted to go _shopping_." Jester answers. "You know, for the baby?"

"Yeah! He seemed pretty serious about it." Veth rolls her eyes. "Something about how he 'couldn't let his niece come out with nothing to wear for the occasion'."

Beau pinches the bridge of her nose. She sees designer baby clothes in the near future. Bright ones. "And Fjord?"

"Molly said he'd need help carrying everything," Jester says. She looks down and toys with a loose thread on her sleeve at the mention of the half-orc, her tail curling around her ankles. Beau winces. Jester and Fjord have been broken up for over a year, but things have been a little tense since Fjord and Mollymauk started dating a few months back. The blue tiefling claims there's no hard feelings about it-- and Beau really does believe her, she's the sort of person who really just wants her friends to be happy-- but it's still a bit of a sore subject. First love is like that. 

Yasha smiles, looking touched, but also a little uncertain. Maybe she's picturing their kid in a mini-Mollymauk-coat, like Beau is. "Well, it's, um... nice of him to do that," she murmurs, with a certain fondness in her voice, one Beau knows she keeps reserved just for Molly. They've been friends for a long time, were even in a band before they joined The Mighty Nein. "Even if he hasn't actually met her yet... oh." She perks up as the bundle in her arms shifts and gurgles faintly. "I think she's waking up. Did you all want to say hello...?"

Beau is pretty sure Jester squeals, but the register is so high that the only way she can tell there's noise is because Caduceus winces and puts a hand over one of his sensitive ears. "Yasha!" The tiefling bounces over. "Yes _of course_ we want to say hello! Oh my _gosh_ , we already waited, like, _nine whole months_ to meet her--"

"Eight months, one week, and three days," Caleb drawls. Jester waves a hand at him dismissively.

"--and I can't wait another single second!" Jester leans over Yasha's shoulder, her eyes wide already. "Veth, Caleb, come on!"

"Easy, Jester, you'll spook her and start her crying," Beau warns, although it doesn't seem necessary. So far, her kid seems to be the quiet type, which must mean she takes after Yasha more than herself. She's pretty sure she spent the first month of _her_ life screaming every single second.

"Let me see!" Veth clambers up onto the bed so she can kneel beside Yasha's hips, leaning over her shoulder. She beckons to Caleb. "Come stand here next to me!"

Looking wary, Caleb makes his way over, bracing his hand on the wall to look down. Without a word, Caduceus wanders over to stand behind him, quite able to see over the shorter man's shoulder. 

Beau has the sudden feeling that she really ought to be involved with this. She rushes over to the bed, moving to stand at the head of the bed. Yasha smiles up at her, and Beau grins back, absolutely positive that she looks like a love-drunk moron right now which, alright, sure, she totally fucking is. She's standing in a hospital room with the people who are effectively her family, surrounding her wife and her newborn daughter. It's... weird. _Good_ weird, but definitely still _weird_. More than she ever expected out of her life, maybe. 

Very slowly, Yasha loosens her hold on the infant, and turns her to face her extended family.

She looks pretty much exactly how Beau remembers, but it still does some weird shit to her heart when she sees her again. The baby is small-- which, like, _most _babies are small, whatever-- with darker skin like her own and a soft, chubby little pinched-up face. There's a generous collection of white hairs sticking out from under the brim of the soft knit cap the nurses put on her head, probably to hide the fact that it's kind of shaped like a baby illithid, minus the tentacles.__

As the baby stirs, her little squished eyelids blink open, and Veth gives a sharp inhale at the sight of her eyes. Though both are blue-- the same as Beau's-- the left has a rather distinct purple tint to it. They only have a few seconds to admire it before they close again. 

"Oh, Beau, Yasha," Jester sighs softly with delight. "She's _beautiful_ , really."

"She looks like a dried plum," Veth offers, but she sounds a little choked up and, when Beau looks down, she sees that halfling's eyes are filled with tears. "Hello, you little creature! I'm your Auntie Veth!"

The baby doesn't respond, of course, just huffs and snuffles and shifts a little in her blanket burrito. Jester reaches down, tracing her fingertip very gently over the round little cheek. The baby gurgles and shifts her arms beneath her blanket.

"She's pretty active," Caduceus notes. "Good sign. Always sorta freaks me out how little non-firbolg babies are." He chuckles. "Seems like they ought to be bigger."'

"You should've seen Luc," Veth laughs softly. "He was even smaller! Fatter, too. That's how halfling babies are born."

"Have you thought of a name?" Caleb asks suddenly. His voice sounds strained, like maybe his throat is too tight, and Beau gets that, because it's pretty much how she feels, too. 

"Yeah," Beau nods. She reaches down, carefully re-tucking the blanket around her daughter's shoulders. "Say hello to Marigold Nydoorin."


	2. inner musings of a lavender lad

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which mollymauk has a lot of feelings, and not all of them are easy to untangle.

"Marigold."

Mollymauk Tealeaf says the name aloud, testing it out, and then takes a long sip from his frappucino (Peppermint White Chocolate Mocha, courtesy of the Circle of Starsbucks he's sitting in front of).

The text is from Jester. It shows a picture of the members of The Mighty Nein-- minus himself and Fjord, of course-- surrounding Yasha in her hospital bed. She holds the baby in question to her chest, turned up towards the camera so he can see her face. From the angle, he figures that Caduceus must have been the one to take the picture, which is a marvel, since the firbolg isn't precisely known for his technological know-how. Jester was probably giving him instructions. 

It's a cute picture. Domestic and saccharine, exactly the sort of thing he expects to see on Jester's Instagram soon, if Beau and Yasha give her the go-ahead. 

A small part of him insists that he really ought to be there, right now. Yasha is his dearest friend, after all, and Beau might as well be his sister, although he would rather be shot with a crossbow than actually admit that to her, she would never let him live it down. The entirety of the Nein are his family, including this new addition. Is it right for him to be here, at the mall, and not there, with them? Is it right for him to have dragged _Fjord_ away from that? 'No' seems like to obvious answer, but then again...

Then again, it wouldn't be right to visit without gifts, would it? _Proper_ gifts, not whatever they happen to have a the hospital gift shop. He wants to make sure this baby-- Marigold, he reminds himself-- is just as spoiled and pampered as he wishes he'd been, when he was a child. It only seems right. Well, and it's possible that he wants to make a memorable entrance, too. First impressions only happen once, after all, even if it seems unlikely his new niece will even remember it.

And it has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that Mollymauk is experiencing a variety of mixed emotions, not all of which he's comfortable with. That would be stupid. 

It's just that he tends to like his life uncomplicated, at least where it concerns himself. He's spent so long dealing with trouble, and drama, and struggling to find the person he is now-- he thinks about Cree, who still says she knows him, even though she _doesn't_ , not anymore--

\--and everything since he decided to remake himself has been... well, not _simple_ , but new, and exciting, and generally carefree. Parties, nightlife, and then _music_ , and The Fletching and Moondrop... it had all been fun. Not _easy_ , never easy, but... but it had been straightforward. Uncomplicated. He'd been tethered only by his whims, by what he cared about most, at that moment, and it had been nice. He could have left if he'd wanted to, could _still_ leave, but he _doesn't_ , because he's comfortable, and it's... strange. And nice. And _domestic_ , and he'd been alright with it when they'd been touring, Moonweaver, he _loves_ touring, doing shows most every night, late nights and clubs and drinking, but now Yasha has a baby, and things are going to change.

And Mollymauk Tealeaf likes to go with the flow, likes to find a path and follow it for however long it pleases him. Change is the only constant, after all, but this feels... different. And it's difficult to pinpoint just _how_ he feels about that. Whether he's alright with it or not.

Ugh. It's all mixed up in his head. He sighs, and takes another sip of his drink.

"There you are," says someone from close by, startling him from his thoughts. Mollymauk looks up, the piercing on his horns jingling lightly.

It's almost impossible to see most of Fjord behind the pile of things he's carrying. There are boxes and bags from various stores in the strip mall, filled with a variety of items ranging from the practical-- diapers, bibs, a pacifier attached to a little plush peacock-- to the totally frivolous, like the three-piece baby suit he'd found, or the gold-plated rattle. His favorite so far is the miniature jacket emblazoned with a bright, brash peacock on the back of it, reminiscent of his own favorite coat. It's going to drive Beau up the wall, he's positive.

"I've been looking all over for you," Fjord continues, walking closer and very carefully setting the bulk of his armload onto the chair beside Mollymauk. He leans back and winces, groaning quietly as he massages the dents in his arms where the bag handles dug in. He puts his hands on his lower back and bends to pop his spine, flinching as he does. Then he straightens, and stares. "Why did you disappear like that?"

And this is another recent change in his life, another thing he might call a _complication_ if he weren't so aware of how fucked up that is. Fjord's the first person he's ever seriously dated, though, at least so far as he can remember. Before him, it's been a slew of one-night-stands and casual flings, nothing serious, and he'd been fine with that. Dating Fjord had sounded fun, though-- and it _is_ , is the thing, it's fun, and exhilarating, physical as well as emotional, because Fjord is one of his closest friends. He's such a delight, just a treasure of a man, smart and strong, maybe a little too high-strung, sometimes, but what does that matter, really?

But it feels strange, for someone to know him this way. He's used to feeding people a stream of steadily-more-ridiculous falsehoods, because it's easier that way. People see him as a liar, a scoundrel, a tease, and those are labels he's alright with, because usually he uses those tall tales to make people happy. Reading fortunes, seeing the future... stories. Songs. Music. The only person he's ever been entirely earnest with is Yasha, because she's always _understood_ him. With the Nein, his moments of sincerity (at least where it concerns himself, and only in certain specific cases) have been... sporadic, at best. 

It's been so long now, though, that they're all starting to catch on. Especially Caduceus, as insightful as he is, and Fjord has been spending so much time with him lately, too... he's getting wise to Mollymauk's tactics. It's maddening. 

Also, sort of hot. He has to admit that getting called out on his more playful bullshit is kind of invigorating. Doesn't count when Beau does it, of course (gross), but Fjord...

Fjord is waiting for a response. Right.

Very slowly, Mollymauk crosses one leg over the other and leans back. He's wearing one of his favorite pairs of thigh-high boots today (though he has many) and they make a very delightful creak as his knees bend. Leather. Have to love it. "Ahoy, captain," he greets, giving him a saucy smile. He props his chin on his hand, elbow resting on the arm of the chair. "Have I ever told you how _strapping_ you look when you're doing manual labor for me?"

Fjord's cheeks darken, and he coughs and looks away, which is right about the reaction Mollymauk had expected him to have. The half-orc rubs at the back of his neck sheepishly. "Yes, well, you're rather... strapping, yourself. Uh, d-darling," he stumbles over the endearment, and then curses quietly under his breath. Mollymauk snickers.

"You're getting better at pet names," he muses, and then holds up his phone, screen facing out. "Jester texted me. They named her Marigold."

Fjord's eyes widen, and he leans in to look closer. "'Marigold', hm?" He murmurs. "That seems fitting. Yasha is rather fond of flowers."

"Mm, she is. I think Beau might have given her marigolds at some point." 

"Quite. That doesn't explain why you walked off without me, though," Fjord points out, his eyes narrowing just a little. Inwardly, Mollymauk curses. Misdirection never works as well on Fjord as he'd like it to, anymore.

"I didn't notice you weren't following me," he offers, shrugging.

"Hm," the half-orc hums, in a tone that suggests he doesn't really believe the reasoning. He sighs instead, and looks down at the bags and boxes. "I rather think we have enough in the way of shopping, don't you? I mean... if the others are there already, shouldn't we get going?"

Mollymauk purses his lips. "It's possible," he concedes, and then smirks. "Unless you'd prefer to visit Pumat Sol's little boutique..." It's a tempting offer, he knows, because Fjord loves Pumat Sol's shop. The Invulnerable Vagrant is full of curiosities, most of them magical and, while not entirely useful to the average person-- adventuring isn't as popular in this modern day of well-made roads and cell phones-- they're usually still amusing, at the very least, and sometimes helpful in ways one doesn't expect, like Fjord's Ring of Fire Resistance, which came in remarkably handy when the curtains at their show in Rexxentrum went up in flames during Caleb's opening recitation.

Fjord eyes him carefully and, for a moment, Mollymauk is concerned that he's pushed his luck too far. Then Fjord puffs out his cheeks, and lets out a slow breath. "We could stop by," he agrees, and Mollymauk relaxes marginally. He tenses up when Fjord continues, "Only after you tell me what's going on, though."

Mollymauk pouts. "I think I prefer the times you let me pretend nothing is wrong," he says, and then lets out a heavy sigh. "It's nothing, Fjord. Just getting into my own head too much. It happens."

Fjord watches him for a long moment, and then nods. "I suppose I understand that," he admits. Mollymauk nods. He's seen the things Fjord has gone through, the way he's grown since the band first formed. Briefly, his eyes flicker down to Fjord's tusks, then back up before the man can notice him doing it. Grimly, Mollymauk thinks that Fjord, more than anyone (except, perhaps, for Caleb) would understand what he means about being in his own head.

"Are you worried about Yasha?" Fjord continues. "Or is it, uh... the baby making you feel strange?"

Mollymauk shakes his head. "It's difficult to explain," he concedes, because that much is true, at the very least. "And really not a big deal. You worry too much, sailor." He stands up, tucking his phone into the pocket of his coat (since his pants are a little too snug) and then plants a hand on his hip. "I think you're right, though. We should go and visit. Fashionably late is one thing, but it might be rude to wait much longer." 

Fjord chuckles quietly. "Right," he murmurs. "Did you plan on helping me carry all of this?" He motions to Mollymauk's purchases. 

Mollymauk grins. "Where would the fun in that bet?" He asks. "I like watching you lift things for me. Like I said-- it's very strapping."

Fjord blushes, just like before, then scowls and shakes his head. "That isn't fair," he grumbles, but he does reach down and start picking things back up, so Mollymauk counts it as a win.

* * *

Fjord's mode of transport is a beat up old van, an enormous boat of a thing. He's had it for longer than Mollymauk has known him, longer even than Jester or Beau are aware of. It's really sort of hideous, faded grey-white on top and a shade of green below that is reminiscent of pea soup. There are dents and scratches, tears in the interior seating, a hole in the center console from a throwing star (courtesy of Beau) and the carpet smells very vaguely of old fries. 

It's also roomy, and well-loved, and there's a very interesting painting on the left side panel (courtesy of Jester) depicting a large ship out at sea, fighting against rough waves, captained by a half-orc who bears a striking resemblance to Fjord, only more rugged and fierce, and very... piratey. It's rather dashing, in his opinion, although Fjord never seems to know quite what to say about it. He's never made an attempt to get it removed, though, so he can't really dislike it that much.

The van was a gift from Fjord's foster father, a human called Vandren. Mollymauk knows very little about the man, except that, one, Fjord admires him more than anyone else in the world and, two, he isn't around any longer. Fjord has never said why, or what happened but, then again, Mollymauk has never asked. Everyone deserves to have their secrets, after all. They can be precious things, in this day and age.

Anyway, he doesn't have any problems with the van, because it's almost exactly the right amount of gaudy for him. He's thinking about how much he really does like the painting on the side as they park in the hospital parking lot and start to unload things. He's taken pity on the half-orc, and is shouldering part of the load himself. 

"I hope it's still visiting hours," Fjord says, looking briefly at the sky, which is just beginning to darken as evening fast approaches. "It would suck to get turned away at the door."

"We're family. It's fine," Mollymauk shrugs. 

They walk in through the doors together. A few of the people in the waiting area send them strange looks, but he figures it has more to do with the sheer amount of _things_ they have with them than the way they look. No one seems to be watching with the wide-eyed awe he'd expect from any fans of The Mighty Nein, so it doesn't seem likely that anyone actually knows who they are, either. That's a little disappointing, but he's willing to shrug it off. Bigger fish to fry. 

The nurse at the front desk doesn't give them any fuss about it, which makes him sure they've made it before visiting hours are over. They're directed to the room and head off for it. The air smells like antiseptic and artificial lemon, and there's faint sounds of nurses and doctors and patients, crying babies and muffled shouting. Who knew Labor and Delivery would be such a lively place?

"Not nearly as somber as I usually expect in a hospital," he says. "And not at all as panicked as the ER. I almost miss it." He's had his fair share of accidents, after all, but life is worth nothing if it isn't lived to it's fullest, and if that means doing reckless things on occasion (like drinking too much, or challenging a total stranger to a bout of leg wrestling, or deciding he very much wants to know what happens when he rides a mattress down a long flight of stairs) then there's really nothing else for it. He turns his head. "It's been awhile since we've had reason to--"

Very suddenly he notices that Fjord is no longer walking beside him. Confused, Mollymauk turns, seeking him out, and then blinks in surprise when he finally spies his familiar green shape. He's gone off down a small side hallway, and is staring intently at the wall, which is... weird. Uncertain what's happening, Mollymauk warily approaches the focused half-orc, his brow furrowed. 

"Ahoy, captain," he calls, lightly, hoping that his teasing will drag Fjord out of whatever weird little spell he's under. He doesn't answer, though, just keeps staring at the wall. His eyes are half-lidded, almost like he's squinting, and his mouth is open just slightly. If he were a betting man (and he is, undoubtedly) then Mollymauk would guess that Fjord is probably working his tongue over the base of his tusks. It's a look he's seen before, like when Fjord is bent over his keyboard practicing, tapping the keys so lightly no real sound comes out, or when he's having one of those strange (but good for him) discussions with Caduceus.

It means he's _concentrating_ , and that's odd, since, well. He's looking at a wall.

"Captain," Mollymauk tries again as he nears. When that fails to illicit a response, he starts to get a little worried. "Fjord? What are you doing over... here..."

It's about then that he realizes that the wall Fjord is staring at isn't a wall at all. It is, in actuality, a very large window. Through it Mollymauk sees another room, one full of medical equipment, and also plastic hospital bassinets. And, inside of those bassinets, Mollymauk sees babies.

That isn't altogether strange. Bassinets-equal-babies, the equation is easy enough to understand, although Mollymauk is fairly certain most hospitals are doing away with the weird 'view the babies like they're in a zoo' window. It makes this especially odd, then, and his brow furrows as he looks in at them. "There really are all sorts in there," he comments idly. A tiefling, humans, even what looks like a bugbear... it's a menagerie, to be sure, although that's probably an unkind word for it. And Fjord is staring. 

And that's just unusual.

"Hey, there," Mollymauk says, freeing a hand so he can reach out and put it on Fjord's shoulder. The half-orc startles somewhat at the touch, turning his head to stare down at him. There's still a far-away look in his eyes, like he's not quite sure he is where he thinks he is. Mollymauk reaches up to pat his cheek, hoping that the sensation might draw him further out of... whatever's happening to him, at the moment. It does seem to spark something like recognition, so Mollymauk grins. "There we are. Well, now, that was a pretty good impression of Caleb you just did, love."

Fjord blinks. "Ah. Yes, sorry, I was just-- thinking." He clears his throat and rolls his shoulders. "I'm afraid I got a little lost, there."

"I noticed," Mollymauk leans back some. "Any particular reason why? If you're scared of babies, you ought to say something before we go and meet Marigold. Beau might take offense if you start having a fit."

"No, no-- it's not that," Fjord shakes his head. "I just..." He sucks in a breath, and then lets it out in a long sigh. He shifts from one foot to the other. "It's just a bit weird, is all, standing here and looking in at... them." He motions to the babies, lying in their bassinets. 

Mollymauk hesitates, still uncertain of what's going on. "Mm," he hums in agreement, anyway. When in doubt: bullshit, after all. "I didn't know hospitals still did this sort of thing, with the... viewing window. I swore Beau was talking about it a few weeks ago. Seems like an invasion of privacy." Not that the babies probably care, but their parents might. He squints. "Is Yasha and Beau's baby in there, or something?"

"No, no," Fjord mutters. "I mean, _yes_ , I think most hospitals are doing away with the viewing windows but, _no,_ I don't see her in there. This is more for..." He hesitates. "For the ones who don't... have families, I suppose. Who aren't staying in the room with... whoever they were born from. For whatever reason."

"Orphans," Mollymauk says quietly, and he doesn't miss the way Fjord sort of flinches at the word. 

"Yes," the half-orc confirms, regardless. "Something like that. And, well, as you know, I'm also... ah, an orphan. I've been told I spent time in a nursery much like this, before I was taken into foster care." His jaw shifts, and Mollymauk knows he's working at the base of his tusks with his tongue again. 

Mollymauk quirks a brow. "Well, let you be an example to them, then," he offers, chuckling softly. "From the bottom rung of the ladder you've climbed, and here you are, world-famous rock star! They'd ask for autographs if they could, I'll bet. Look there," he motions with his tail towards one baby, a little goblin baby with skin the color of a ripe olive. She's wrapped in a yellow blanket, but her arms have broken free of the swaddling so she can lift them up and wave them around. Mollymauk doubts the little mite can see them through the window-- eyes still blue, probably still getting the hang of _seeing_ at all-- but it does seem like she might be trying to catch their attention. "That one knows quality when she sees it."

Fjord laughs, a soft sound that's more under his breath than anything, but it fades away too quickly for Mollymauk's liking. "It's just that I know what sort of future they might face," he murmurs. He hesitates, then steps closer to the window, one hand free to press against the glass. "Considering my own past, it isn't the sort of thing I would wish on anyone. They could hardly deserve it." He sighs, and looks down. "If there were just someone to help them, someone who understood..."

A bell chimes in Mollymauk's head, then, something that says _alarm_ , and _too domestic_ , and he fights valiantly against it because he really does want to comfort his boyfriend-- how he _hates_ that word, sounds so juvenile, much too serious-- but there is a very large part of him that very much wants him to change the subject, because it seems like they might be coming too close to dangerous territory, and Mollymauk is _not_ ready to discuss... children. Or anything of the sort.

His heart thuds in his chest. "We can always donate," he announces, and gives Fjord's arm a gentle push. "To wherever they end up. You know, make sure there's coin to be had so they don't want for things. What's the point of being famous musicians if you can't redistribute the wealth, after all?" He pauses, and looks back in at the swaddled bundles, at the goblin baby still waving her arms. Even though he knows she probably can't see him, he still waves back. "Or you could volunteer. I'm sure some of the older kids would like hearing you play." He chuckles. "I can see it now. 'Captain Tusktooth performs 'Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star'.' You can wear a pirate outfit. I'll even be your crew." He winks, and Fjord flushes, but he does laugh a little. Mollymauk nods. "There you go. Does that feel better, for now?" When Fjord nods, he reaches up to pat his cheek. "Wonderful. Listen, sailor, I'm sorry to rush you, but we're expected elsewhere." He grins crookedly. "Wouldn't do to keep the lady waiting any longer."

Fjord gives him a long look, and opens his mouth to say something. After a moment, he closes it again, swallows, and nods. "Yes, you're right, of course," he answers. "I'll ask the hospital staff which facility takes the, er... those... children in there, and donate something. And..." he hesitates. "...and perform for them, perhaps."

"There you go. Problem solved, for the moment. Make those little one's lives better." Mollymauk slaps his shoulder and nods, and then turns around to walk back towards the hallway they came from. 

It doesn't escape his notice that Fjord lingers behind for a few long seconds before he follows. He just chooses to ignore it.

* * *

"We come bearing gifts!" 

Mollymauk crows the announcement in his best stage-whisper, rounding the doorway to peer into the hospital room. His voice isn't loud enough to startle the baby (or so he hopes, but the bundle in the plastic bassinet beside the bed doesn't move) but it is enough to make Yasha look up from the bed. It also makes Beau jolt in the uncomfortable looking armchair she'd been curled up in (probably trying to nap). She nearly falls off, and only just manages not to, which is good for a laugh, at the very least. By the time she looks up to glare at him, Mollymauk is smirking. 

"About time," the human scowls, standing slowly and taking a moment or two to stretch. He hears a few of her bones pop, and sees her wince. "Shit, that's uncomfortable. Where have you been? What's-- woah." She finally takes stock of the sheer number of things he's holding, and of Fjord coming in behind him with even more. She puts a hand to her forehead. " _Damn_ , dude, did you buy out the whole mall?"

"Almost," Mollymauk answers with a shrug, seeking out an empty space on the nearest counter. He starts to put things down. "I couldn't exactly trust _you_ to know what looks good, could I? The poor baby would be wearing blue and teal onesies for ages unless I'd stepped in." 

Beau makes an indignant noise, but she also doesn't argue, which is good for her, since Mollymauk knows he's right.

"That was really sweet of you, Molly," Yasha says, in the sort of halted tone she uses when she's touched, and maybe also a little uncertain of how things are about to go. "And you too, Fjord."

"Did we miss everyone?" The half-orc asks, handing the things he's holding off to Mollymauk to set down. "I thought the others would be here."

"They were," Yasha nods. "You just missed them."

"They wanted to have a party," Beau grumbles, rubbing her eyes with her hands. "I convinced them to just, like... go home and set up for a welcome-home party tomorrow." 

"Well, doesn't that sound nice," Mollymauk turns, hands on his hips. "Can't wait, really, truly. Will there be drinking? Trick question; of course there will be. That's hardly important right now, though. What _is_ important," he steps closer to Yasha's bed, and to the bassinet close by, "is that I get to meet my niece."

"Oh, yeah, of course," Yasha says. She shifts, swinging her legs over the side of the hospital bed and sitting up. She's wearing soft flannel pajamas and her hair is in a loose bun, still wet-- she must have showered right after the others left. "She was sleeping, but she might be awake, now..." She leans over the bassinet, and her face breaks into a soft, warm smile, the sort that makes Mollymauk's heart do a little twist in his chest, because it means she's utterly and totally happy. He's seen it before, back when she and Beau tied the knot. It would be sickening, if it weren't Yasha. She deserves all the happiness in the world. 

"Don't wake her on our account," Mollymauk says. "I'd hate to upset her. Oh..." He comes to stand beside Yasha, looking down at the sleeping baby, and he lets out a sigh as he takes in the pinched, peaceful little face, the shock of white hair sticking out from under her hat. "Jester's picture hardly did her justice. She's going to break _hearts_." He reaches down, gingerly drawing a painted nail down her cheek. "What a marvel she is. I can't wait to see her in some of the clothes I picked out for her." He shoots a smirk at Beauregard, who crosses her arms, but somehow can't quite manage to look properly annoyed.

Fjord comes up to the other side of the crib. "Hello there," he mutters, even though she isn't awake. "Wildmother, she's small."

"She's a baby, dude," Beauregard walks over to nudge Fjord with her shoulder. "They're all small."

"She didn't feel like it coming out," Yasha comments offhand, and Mollymauk snorts a laugh.

"Like a watermelon through a straw, I'll bet," He cackles. He throws his arm around Yasha's shoulders and draws her down for a hug. He kisses her cheek. "You did marvelous, though. Congratulations." 

Yasha smiles, tucking her face into his neck (mindful of his horns) and hugs him back.

"Er, yes-- good job, Beau," Fjord offers uncomfortably, and gives the human a light, friendly punch on the shoulder. Then he sighs, resting one hand on his hip and using the other to rub the back of his neck. "Wow. I did _not_ mean for that to be as... awkward as it was."

"It was bad," Beauregard agrees, and then, maybe realizing she's being an asshole, hurries to add, "but I get what you meant and, uh, thanks, man." She smiles, and reaches out to punch his shoulder in two quick jabs. "Pop-pop," she says.

Fjord smiles, and only rubs his arm a little where she hit him. 

"Molly, did you..." Yasha straightens up a little. "...did you want to hold her? None of the others have, yet, and if you... I mean, I'd like it a lot if you were the first." She pauses. "Aside from Beau."

Mollymauk's heart does that little tightening thing again, like it's suddenly too big for itself. He tries not to let it show, tries to keep as nonchalant as ever as he tilts his head to one side. The piercings on his horns jangle. "Well, if you _insist_ ," he says, and holds out his arms. "I'll try not to wake her." 

Yasha reaches down and, with a gentleness many think her incapable of (considering her size and muscle), she gently scoops her daughter out of the bassinet. She cradles her gingerly in both hands. Then, with the utmost care, she deposits Marigold into Mollymauk's waiting hold. 

He draws the baby to his chest. "Heavier than she looks," he murmurs, more to himself than any of them. That tightness in his chest is back, but there's something else now, a warmth he wasn't quite expecting. As he adjusts his hold, Marigold makes a gurgle, and shifts just a little. Her eyelids blink open, peering up at him-- or, at least, in his general direction-- and he sucks in a slow breath. She meets his gaze, eyes all new and odd-colored, and his tail curls loosely around his own ankle as he smiles. "Aren't you a _treasure_?" He asks, leaning down to kiss her forehead. She squirms, and he laughs. "What a pleasure to meet you. I'm your Unty Mollymauk."

"Unty," Fjord repeats, and chuckles. "I rather like that."

"It seemed fitting," Mollymauk agrees. He can't take his eyes off of Marigold; she gurgles and shifts a bit more, still keeping her eyes on his face, and when she settles he curls his tail over his shoulder and tickles under her chubby chin with the spaded tip. She furrows her brow, concentrating as hard as she can. She squirms, freeing a single hand, and he presses the tip of his tail against her palm. Reflexively, her fingers wrap around it. "A strong grip. That's wonderful-- I'll have her juggling knives and telling fortunes before you know it."

Beauregard crosses her arms. "Knives are fine, but you'd better not teach my kid how to bullshit like you do."

"I'm offended you'd accuse me of that!" Mollymauk cackles, and then looks at Fjord. "Want to hold her? If it's alright with her mothers, of course."

"It's fine," Yasha says. "Just, um, be careful to support her head..."

"Yeah, don't shake her or anything," Beauregard adds. She's probably joking.

Fjord's eyes widen. "It's, uh, been awhile since I held a baby," he admits, but he does hold his hands out, so Mollymauk figures he can't be too put off by the idea. Gently he transfers Marigold into the half-orcs arms, and watches as he struggles, for a moment, to support her, while also making sure she's comfortable. When she nestles her head against the crook of Fjord's arm, Mollymauk hears his breath catch.

"Yeah, she kinda has that effect on people," Beauregard comments, resting her elbow on Fjord's shoulder. She reaches down, adjusting Marigold's blanket. 

"She's wonderful," Fjord murmurs under his breath. He looks down at the baby and smiles, a little uneven, like he's not sure if he should show too much tusk. "Hello, there. I suppose you'll call me Uncle Fjord." They stand together in a companionable silence, each of them marveling at the new addition. Mollymauk finds himself enamored with the way she curls into Fjord's chest, like she knows instinctively that he's safe.

Either that, or his pectorals are soft enough that they're getting the same response as Yasha's chest would. Having resting his head on both of them at one point or another, Mollymauk finds it entirely reasonable as an explanation. 

After several minutes, Marigold burbles and huffs, and then wiggles a bit more. She tightens up her face, and her cheeks start to turn red. Fjord's eyes widen. "Oh-- what, uh, did I do something wrong, or--" He's starting to look a little panicked, glancing from Yasha, to Beauregard, and then back again.

"Nah," Beauregard shakes her head, all the fondness in the world held in her voice. "She's just taking a shit."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey can you guys tell me if i'm writing these guys totally out of character? sometimes i struggle. might need a beta reader...


	3. both ends of the candle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which caleb works too hard, and stays up too late, with an unfortunate consistency.

Caleb wakes to the sound of someone pounding on his door.

He groans quietly and sits up, and a page from the book his head was just resting on sticks stubbornly to his cheek with dried spit. Grumbling, he reaches up to brush it off, wincing as his shoulders and neck let him now how much they don't appreciate him falling asleep at his desk again. He's not a young person anymore, after all, a few solid years past thirty, and his body doesn't bounce back from late work nights like it used to. 

With a soft _mrr-rrt?_ , Frumpkin lifts his head up from his bed on Caleb's desk. The orange-brown tabby yawns, then shifts to sit up, stretching his own shoulders as he does so. Caleb smiles at him, ignoring the ache in his arm so he can reach out and pet the cat around the ears. _"Guten Morgen, mein kleines Katzchen,"_ he murmurs, voice rough from sleep. Frumpkin sets up a rusty purr, his tail curling up over his back

The knocking comes again, louder this time. Caleb huffs. _"Ja, ja,"_ he calls, pushing slowly away from his desk. He rests his hands on his lower back and bends, trying to set his spine right. Nine hours hunched over a desk like a gargoyle would give anyone some back problems, he wagers. A chiropractor would have a field day with him. He might be due for a massage, but he dislikes letting strangers touch him in general (and only barely tolerates it when those closest to him do it, sometimes), and he doubts he would enjoy it any more if he were forced to be naked, or even _mostly_ naked, as most massage parlors require. 

It's a lot to consider, and entirely dependent on whether his pain weighs heavier than his discomfort.

He takes a moment to look around his room. It's a bit of a mess at the moment. His bed is made, but his clothes hamper is full, and his trash can is overflowing with crumpled papers, the mark of his struggle the night before. There are books on every flat surface available, some dog-eared and well-loved, others newer. He should put them away, but all three of his bookshelves are bursting already, which makes him think it might be time for a new addition, which seems to be a theme for The Mighty Nein at the moment.

Although bookshelves are quite different from babies.

Whoever it is outside his door knocks once more, drawing him from his thoughts. _"Ja_ , a moment, please," he calls, taking a second to pull on his housecoat. He wades across his cluttered floor to the door and opens it. 

"Good morning, Caleb!" Jester and Veth both sing out at once, and Caleb flinches at the sharp register of their combined voices. He lifts a hand to his head. His sleep wasn't restful, and he can feel a headache coming on. 

"Yes, good morning," he begins, but then pauses when he sees that the pair of them are staring at him in the way they do when they aren't certain what he's been up to. He imagines he must be giving them a similar look, though, because both of them have clearly been up to some sort of mischief. Veth has multi-colored confetti in her hair, and there's a smear of pink icing on Jester's cheek. They would look very cheerful, if not for the fact that his appearance seems to have made their smiles disappear.

"Caleb, are you okay? You look awful," Veth says, her brow furrowed with concern.

"Thanks," he responds dryly. 

"No, she's definitely right, Caleb. You look _totally_ exhausted." Jester pouts at him, and he is momentarily distracted by the freckles on her cheeks, and the very nice yellow sundress she is wearing. Then he lifts a hand to rub at his eyes-- _Scheisse_ , he must be more tired than he thought.

"I was up very late," he explains. "It doesn't matter. What have you two been up to?"

"Did you fall asleep at the desk again?" Veth asks, her voice rising in pitch. "You always work too hard! You're so dedicated." She says it like it's a good thing, with that hint of motherly affection, even though she looks worried. 

"You have ink on your face," Jester points out.

The corners of Caleb's mouth twitch. "You have frosting on yours."

"Oh!" Jester reaches up and brushes both sides of her face with her fingers, and scoops it up when she finds it. She makes a delighted sound and licks it off of her fingertip, which Caleb very pointedly does _not_ watch her do, thank you very much. "Thanks, Caleb! I don't like wasting icing."

"That would be a tragedy," he answers, and smiles a little. Then he clears his throat. "And you did not answer my question. Why are you both..." he gestures at them.

"Because of the _party_ , Caleb, _duh_ ," Jester rolls her eyes. "There's no way you forgot about it!"

Caleb blinks. She's right, of course, he hasn't forgotten the party, because Caleb remembers _everything_ \-- good or bad-- and he certainly can't forget the fact that Yasha, Beau, and Marigold are due to return home today, or that Jester and Veth (and Mollymauk too, apparently) are going out of their way to make it a special occasion. No, he hasn't forgotten those things by any means.

It's just so easy to get caught up in work. 

"Ah, of course," is what he says. Mentally, he feels for the time-- it's difficult to explain how he does that, how he just _knows_ the approximate time at any given moment, numbers have just always stuck with him that way-- and realizes quickly that it's much later than he had planned to wake up. Likely because he stayed up much later than he intended. It's well into noon, right now. He rubs his hand over his face. "I see. I overslept."

"You did!" Veth confirms it. "They've been here for half an hour, now, you're missing things! Come on." She takes his arm, then pauses, and assess his appearance with a scrutinizing gaze. "Wait. Lean down for a second."

Caleb does so, and the halfling reaches up and adjusts the hair hanging in his face, loose from his usual ponytail. She stands back, satisfied. "There," she nods. "That's better. You look so handsome!"

"I mean, he totally does, but also," Jester reaches out as Caleb straightens, patting his chest. "Also, you maybe _really_ need a shower, and some clean clothes. No offense," she hastens to add, with a little smile on her face, so he knows she means it. "What even were you _doing_ all night? Were you working? We're on break right now!"

Sheepishly, Caleb rubs the back of his neck. " _Ja_ , well, not for forever," he reminds her. "Sooner or later we will be making music again, and it would help to have the lyrics figured out, I think." He pauses. "And, well, there is also the poetry to consider..." He chooses the poems for the opening recitation carefully, and it's a multi-step process, the sort he takes very seriously. The amount of poetry he has pored through in the pursuit of the perfect one for each show...

They have no shows scheduled, at the moment, that's true, but it never hurts to have some stored away for future use.

" _Cay_ -leb," Jester sighs, and shakes her head. "You're so bad at taking breaks! You aren't supposed to _work_ during them, you know?"

"Ah, is that how it works, Blueberry?" He cannot stop himself from smiling. "I wasn't aware."

She sticks her tongue out at him, and then giggles. "Well I'm glad I told you, then," she says. "Go get ready, okay? You're missing all the fun stuff, Yasha is letting people hold Marigold!" She gives him a playful shove back towards his room.

"We'll save you a cupcake!" Veth says. "Ooh, and wear the vest I got you for last Barren Eve! You know, the one with the buttons." Her eyes shine faintly at the word, and Caleb chuckles under his breath, holding up both hands. "Alright, alright," he answers. "I will be up shortly." He shuts the door, and waits until he hears the sound of their footsteps walking away before he sighs and leans against the solid wood. "Mrow-prrt?" Caleb feels his shirtsleeve shift, and he looks down to see Frumpkin, standing on the edge of his desk, one paw outstretched. One might call the look on his little face quizzical, as if he's checking, in his own way, whether or not his owner is alright. Caleb smiles, and pets his cat's head, rubbing his fingers over his cheeks.

 _"Mir geht es gut, mein kleines Kätzchen," _he murmurs. "Come, let us go and get ready." He reaches down, scooping Frumpkin into his arms. The cat tolerates it for several seconds before he squirms free, climbing up onto Caleb's shoulders and settling with his tummy pressed against the back of his neck. He starts to purr, and Caleb shakes his head and starts to search for clean clothes._ _

* * *

By the time Caleb ascends the stairs to the Happy Room, he is showered, wearing fresh clothes, and has taken the time to shave his beard back into presentable order. His still-damp hair is pulled into his customary tie, and Frumpkin, as usual, is resting on his shoulders. 

He can hear the sounds of his friends before he sees them through the half-open door, the low din of their joy as they celebrate. He pauses outside, standing in the connected Planning Room, just for a moment, and gradually he picks out whole sentences.

"--think it's fair she's that calm. Why is she that calm? She's way further from the ground than when _I_ held her." That's Veth. There's no mistaking the shifting pitches in her tone.

"I dunno, it sorta makes sense," says someone who has to be Beauregard. "Cad is like those animals that chill with every animal, even, like... crocodiles.The, uh... huge rat things."

"Capybara?" Yasha. Of course.

"Yeah, that's the one."

"I'll take that as a compliment," comes Caduceus' amused drawl.

"I wanna hold her!" A young voice cries out. Caleb recognizes Luc instantly; before the Xorhaus, before The Mighty Nein, Caleb spent several months living on the Brenatto couch, and Luc was not shy about talking to the strange human man his mother had adopted. "Can I hold her? Please, can I?"

"Yeah, sure you can!" Veth agrees.

"Woah, uh, hey now," says a voice Caleb recognizes as Yeza. "Maybe we should ask her parents first, honey?"

"Oh, it's fine! Luc can be careful. It's fine, right, Yasha?"

"Um," Yasha says, sounding nervous. "I, uh, I guess so?"

Caleb decides he should probably hurry up.

He pushes lightly on the door and steps inside, and is momentarily taken aback by the decorations. Streamers, confetti, and balloons cover almost every available surface. The coffee table is full to bursting with an array of snacks, from cupcakes (blue and pink swirled icing) to cookies to, of course, donuts. There do seem to be a few more savory finger foods available within the sea of sweets, no doubt Caduceus' handiwork, judging from their earthy appearance. 

Yasha and Beau are sitting at one corner of the large, multi-section couch that takes up the vast majority of space in the Happy Room. Fjord is beside them, with Mollymauk folded neatly into the small space between the half-orc and the aasimar, more elegant than anyone has a right to be, with his head pillowed in Fjord's lap and his legs thrown over both Yasha and Beau's laps (one of whom looks decidedly more unhappy about the position than the other). He doesn't see Jester anywhere.

Caduceus sits in the overstuffed armchair beside the hearth, looking incredibly relaxed (as always), with Marigold resting on his chest, held in place by one large, long-fingered hand. He has a cup of tea on the side table near his left elbow, and an energetic halfling child at his right. Luc is bouncing up and down as if he cannot possibly imagine being still. Veth stands behind him with her arms folded and, just behind her, Yeza rests his hands on his hips and looks a little uncertain about letting Luc hold a baby. 

That's fair, since (so far as Caleb knows), Luc doesn't have the best track record of keeping his grip on fragile things. It's something like fifty-fifty, and that might be acceptable with something such as a vase, but for a newborn...

"You worry too much," Veth huffs at her husband. Then she smiles, and pats his cheek. "It's adorable."

"Oh, well-- um," Yeza flushes and laughs softly. His cheeks color. "Well, it might be okay. Luc, just sit down on the floor first, buddy-- cross-legged, there you go." Luc drops down onto the rug, looking up eagerly at his father. Yeza glances at the two parents on the couch. "Would that be better, Ms. Yasha? Ms. Beau?"

"Yeah, just... be careful," Beauregard answers, her brow furrowed, like she's thinking about getting up to come supervise, anyway. "Go on, Cad."

Caduceus shifts, sitting up a little. Carefully he lifts Marigold away from his chest-- she makes a few whimpers of protest-- and hands her over to Yeza. One floppy firbolg ear twitches, and he glances over at Caleb and smiles in the dreamy way he does when he's not thinking too hard about anything. "Hey, Mr. Caleb," he greets, drawing the attention of the others.

Beauregard's face brightens. "Hey, Caleb! What took you so long?" She shoves Mollymauk's feet off of her lap and stands, then walks over. The tiefling clicks his tongue in disapproval, and glares, but she ignores him. 

Caleb shrugs, feeling Frumpkin's weight shift as he does. "Apologies. I overslept." She comes towards him for a hug, which he awkwardly accepts. It's a stiff-armed, uncertain affair, like all of their embraces seem to be, despite the fact that they've known each other for over a year, now. Still, it's warm and familiar, and he allows himself to sink into it, just a little. Beau is the sister he never had. 

Also the one he never asked for, but he cannot say he dislikes that she's around.

"You'd think you'd eventually get better at that," Fjord muses from across the room. Beauregard makes a rude gesture at him, and he laughs. 

Mollymauk sighs, and stretches. "Well, you didn't miss the party, at least," he comments, waving a hand imperiously at the gathering. "Such as it is. A lot less drinking than I prefer, but I guess there are children present." 

"No liquor for Marigold until she's at least thirteen," Beauregard says forcefully.

"Except for teething!" Veth pipes up. "I put rum on Luc's gums when he was teething, and he barely even cried, after!"

"Yeah, well, he was probably too trashed to feel any pain," Beauregard rolls her eyes. Quieter, to Caleb, she says, "Everything okay, man? You look tired."

Caleb shakes his head. " _Nein_ , Beau, you worry too much. I'm fine." He gives her shoulder an awkward pat. He smiles wryly. "Be careful, or people will start to think you care."

Beauregard snorts and punches his shoulder, but she does it lightly. "Shut up."

Across the room, Yeza very carefully starts to settle Marigold into Luc's arms. "Now be careful, son," he says. "Make sure you support her head, she can't hold it up herself, yet."

Luc makes a fascinated sound. "She's _tiny_!" He announces. Marigold shifts and makes a gurgle of protest at the noise, and his eyes widen. When he speaks again, his tone is hushed. "Sorry. Too loud. Hello, I'm Luc." He stares down at her little face, enraptured. Marigold shifts, arching her back, and lifts her hands up, not reaching, not really, just moving for the sake of moving. Luc is delighted, regardless, and leans down so her little palm pats against his cheek.

Yasha stares very intently at the halfling holding her baby. "That's... the cutest thing I've ever seen," she says in an almost reverent tone, and even Caleb has to admit that she's right. Not even Frumpkin making biscuits can hold a candle to that, although it's a close race. For a few quiet seconds, they are all of them caught up in the tender moment. 

Then Luc looks up at his mother and says, "I'm gonna take her outside and show her to Nugget!" and starts to stand up, and even Veth is part of the chorus of "No!" which rings out.

As Yeza bends down to explain to his startled son that no, he can't do that, usually dogs need to be introduced to babies slowly or they might hurt them-- not the mention that Nugget isn't really a _normal_ dog anyway-- Caleb's focus is drawn by a muffled squeal from somewhere below, loud enough to hear, although still distant. He hears the faint patter of someone running, coming closer, up the stairs behind him, and he turns just in time for Jester to come bolting in through the Planning Room and run right into him. 

Instinctively, Caleb's hands go up to brace against the tiefling's upper arms, and she gasps in surprise and grabs the front of his vest to keep him from falling over backwards. They don't lose their balance, but it's a close thing, and there's a breathless moment where Caleb isn't sure his feet are where they ought to be, or if he should try and move to catch them both against the door frame, and gravity suddenly seems less like a constant and more like a possibility he isn't currently experiencing. Then Jester's hold on him tightens-- he feels the muscles of her arms flexing beneath his blackened fingertips-- and his center of gravity reasserts itself.

"Hello, Caleb," Jester chirps, sounding at once apologetic, demure, and then somehow still playful. Her eyes, the color of amethysts, are glittering with mischief, and he always finds himself so taken with that. He stares down at her, silent, and she grins and laughs. "Sorry! I didn't see you."

He swallows. His throat feels dry. She is pressed rather closely against him, and it's somewhat distracting. "No problem," he tells her weakly. He clears his throat. "Maybe do not run in the house so much, _ja?"_

She inhales sharply. "Oh, but _Cay_ -leb!" She exclaims, like she's just now remembered what made her come running in the first place. She shifts her focus, looking now to the others in the room. "And-- everyone! You will _never_ guess what I just found out, seriously, guys, it's, like, _super_ exciting!" She starts to pull away, and Caleb releases her arms quickly, and tries very hard not to think about how cool and smooth her freckled skin had felt beneath the pads of his ruined fingers. 

"What is it, Jester?" Fjord asks, sitting up a little straighter. 

"You will _never_ guess, not in a million years!" She stands in the middle of the room and waves something around; belatedly, Caleb recognizes it as her phone, all pink and white, with little multi-colored painted sprinkles and enough sweets-themed charms hanging off of it to effectively work as a flail. She pauses. "You should totally try, though!" 

"Oh! Oh, is it about that unicorn onesie you ordered?" Veth asks. "Did it ship, finally?"

Jester shakes her head. "No," she answers, drawing out the end, _'noooo'_ , all lilting and happy. 

"Something about your mother?" Fjord questions, shifting a little bit as Molly sits up. "You said she might visit."

"She might! But, no, that isn't it, either." Jester rocks back on her heels, grinning from ear to ear.

Mollymauk smiles back at her. "Well, don't keep us in suspense. That's rude, you know."

"Okay, okay, _so_ ," Jester is practically bouncing on the balls of her feet now, her tail curling around and around, the heart-shaped tip brushing against the backs of her calves, which Caleb is not paying attention to at all. "So! I was just in the kitchen, and I was thinking about how excited I am about Marigold, and how much I can't wait for _everyone_ to meet her--"

"'Everyone' like our fans?" Yasha looks up. "Because I don't want people trying to sneak pictures outside, again, like they did when Molly came back from the hospital." Collectively they all wince, and Caleb sees Mollymauk shift a little, his eyes narrowing slightly. Almost casually, Fjord lets his hand fall to the tiefling's chest, all at once non-committal and comforting, as if he has not meant to do it but also doesn't plan to move it.

The incident with Lorenzo is likely as fresh in their minds as it is in Caleb's, particularly Mollymauk, who came so close to dying. Some of their less respectful fans had spread rumors that he _had_ died, and then spent days camping out in front of their gate, eager to snap pictures of the injured tiefling to prove it false.

It was not an easy time, for any of them. Yasha broke more than one phone.

" _No_ , no no no, don't worry," Jester shakes her head. "I wouldn't do _anything_ like that, I didn't even post the picture we took yesterday! I just, you know, I was thinking about her meeting the people we _know_ , you know? Like my mama, or Pumat Sol, or!" She pauses, and folds her hands behind her back. "Or The Traveler. And I was thinking that I was sad he hadn't met her yet, because he is, like, _really_ good with kids, you guys, and then it was like he read my mind or something, because he messaged me, and!" She produces her phone again, holding it out to them so they can see the screen. "And he says he's coming to visit tomorrow!"

Silence. Then Fjord sucks in a breath, sharp and uncertain, and says, "Jester..."

Beauregard steps away from Caleb. "He's coming tomorrow? He didn't-- fuck. I mean, did you _invite_ him, or..."

Caleb watches as all of the enthusiasm in Jester seems to melt away. Her tail curls loosely around one ankle, and she makes a face. "I mean, sort of? I told him I definitely thought he should meet her, you know, because he's super important to me, and he's helped us before..." 

"More like _we_ helped _him_..." Beauregard mutters. Jester's frown is minute, but Caleb notices-- he always does-- and he knows she's getting frustrated.

It's no secret that most of their party trusts Jester's Archfey friend about as far as they can throw him (which, in everyone's case but Yasha and Beauregard, is not very far). It isn't just that he's by far the most magically inclined being any of them have ever met, in this day and age (something beyond even Caleb's own, smaller tinkerings in the stuff), it's his general demeanor, Caleb is certain. 

Truthfully, Artagan is not his favorite person, and his chaotic outlook on life can be a little disconcerting. If he is being honest (and he does try to be, when he can), then Caleb would say he does not trust him very much at all.

But that does not matter, because although he does not trust The Traveler, he _does_ trust Jester.

"I am certain he only wishes to congratulate you both," Caleb intervenes, stepping forward and looking to Beau and Yasha.

Beauregard glances over at her daughter, held now by Yeza. "I dunno if I want that guy around my kid," she murmurs, more to herself than to any of them. Then she sighs, and rubs the back of her neck. "I guess if he was supervised..." She meets Yasha's gaze questioningly, and the taller women narrows her eyes.

"So long as he doesn't try anything weird," Yasha says, protective and stern, not at all as soft-spoken as she sometimes is. Caleb imagines that anyone trying to get between her and her daughter might soon find themselves taken apart rather effectively. It makes him think of her snatching a phone through a fence and breaking it in one hand. 

Jester makes an indignant noise. "He wouldn't do anything bad to her!"

"Maybe not on purpose," Fjord says, trying to reason. Jester makes a frustrated sound in her throat, and Caleb almost does the same. Someone who has spent so much time with Jester should trust her judgement by now, protective instincts be damned. "But he might not know how to handle babies. I don't know how the fey deal with... that sort of thing, but I can understand why Beau and Yasha might be hesitant."

"Don't they kidnap little babies and replace them with their own?" Veth asks. When Jester looks at her, she holds up her hands. "It's just what I heard! They're called changelings, or something. I'm not saying he would!"

"Where would he even _get_ a fey baby to switch her with? He'd have to, like. Make one." Jester says, rolling her eyes. 

Beauregard makes a disgusted noise. "Thanks, Jester. Really didn't wanna think about that weirdo boning down."

"I meant he'd have to, like! Make one! Magically!" Jester stomps a foot. "Like out of a pile of leaves or something! Jeez, you guys, not _everything_ is about dicks."

Beauregard narrows her eyes. "Okay, first of all, lots of stuff with you is about dicks. But secondly! He'd better not try to switch her with a pile of leaves!"

Jester bridles. "He _won't_!"

"You all worry too much," Mollymauk cuts in loudly. When Beauregard glares at him, he grins back at her. "I mean it! First of all, Jester's Traveler has never given us reason to believe he _doesn't_ know how to behave around babies. Just because he enjoys a bit of mischief..." He pauses. "I mean, you let Jester hold her, yeah? And she's just as much an agent of chaos as her friend." 

Jester beams at him. "Aww, Molly! Thank you."

The purple tiefling waves his hand dismissively. "Well, it's true. You haven't given in to what I'm _certain_ are your powerful urges to draw things all over the sweet little cherub's face--"

"--I _wouldn't_ , not to a _baby_ ," Jester pipes up, "but that _would_ be pretty funny--"

"--so I don't see why we should expect someone Jester trusts to do anything of the sort, either. And secondly," he crosses one leg over the other, "secondly, if you trust _me_ with an infant, then you really can't be _too_ choosy, can you? After all, I'm liable to have her reading fortunes and speaking Infernal before much longer. Prop her up and hand her a a deck of cards and she'd probably do better than most fortune-tellers I know." He winks at Beau, who huffs in irritation. Yasha smiles, despite her evident concern.

Caduceus sniffs. "You know, I think it'd be alright," he says, in the quiet which follows. "Can't see why he'd cause trouble like that. Jester's pretty important to him. I don't think he'd want to mess up his friendship with her for some momentary fun." The blue tiefling preens under those words, happy to hear it. Caduceus continues. "Also, respectfully, he didn't really strike me as the sort of person to want much to do with mortal children. At least, not before they're toilet trained."

"There you go, then!" Mollymauk waves a hand at the firbolg. "If Caduceus thinks it's alright, then I really don't see any reason the rest of us shouldn't, too. None of us are even close to as good a judge of character as he is." He turns, and gives Fjord a part on the chest, lifting a brow. "Why don't we put a little faith in Jester here, hm?"

Most of them probably miss the way Fjord's eyes shift minutely from Mollymauk, to Jester, and then back again, as if he's uncertain of the contact.They also probably don't notice how Jester's pink-painted fingernails dig into her palms, like she's uncomfortable and can't quite place why.

(Caleb does, and he wants to reach out and take her hand and stop her from leaving crescent moons pressed into her flesh.)

(He doesn't, but it's a near thing.)

Beauregard gives a long sigh, and rubs her forehead, one hand resting on her hip as she wrestles with the support for an idea she still doesn't seem on board with. Yasha stands, and walks over, patting her wife's shoulder. Their eyes meet, and Yasha smiles in a way that must be meant to be reassuring, and Beauregard snorts, and rolls her shoulders, just a little. Slowly, she looks at Jester.

"Alright," she allows. "He can visit. But if he says _one_ thing about... I don't know, kidnapping her or something..."

"He won't!" Jester insists, almost dancing in place now. Her voice rises with her excitement, her momentary discomfort forgotten-- or so she would probably like them all to believe. "He's _so good_ with kids, you don't even _know_. This one time, when I was little..." She trails off into a story, an adventure from her childhood, when The Traveler had been little more than an imaginary friend, to everyone but her, and her voice is light and cheerful, and her smile is as vibrant as ever. 

She looks happy. Caleb busies himself with petting Frumpkin behind the ears, and tries to pretend that it isn't her vibrant joy that makes his heart run double-time in his chest.

* * *

The next time Caleb wakes, it isn't because of knocking on his door. It's because someone is screaming.

Well-- that is perhaps an oversimplification of the situation. In the first place, he had not been sleeping, not really, because, although he is tired (has been tired for weeks, although that is hardly a new development), he has not actually gone to bed. The party had taken up the majority of the afternoon, and then they had spent the rest of the evening relaxing in close proximity, until Caduceus gathered them all together for dinner. Now that it is night, The Mighty Nein have gone to their own rooms, and Caleb is left to pick up where he last left off with his work.

Which means not sleeping. Not _really_ sleeping, anyway, but he would be lying if he said he didn't drifted off every now and then. It is not an unfamiliar feeling, poring over books and notes in his half-asleep state, the smell of ink and paper and the faintest trace of what he can only think of as _magic_ in his nose, and the faint glint of his preferred light source (simple white candles) flickering through the bits of amber scattered across his messy desk. The only difference from this moment _now_ and one from _before_ , what feels like a lifetime ago, is that his focus is not on composing classical sheet music, or plucking strings, or teasing magic out of the air to aid in his performance, and that there is not a shadow at his back, a wolf at his door, pawing, clawing, waiting with teeth showing, 

_bony hands on his shoulders, squeezing, digging, **what marvels will you create for me today, bren,** voice all smooth and soothing, like silk, but with a threat behind it that sounds like crackling flames, like snapping embers, like the roar of blood in his ears as his parents burn_,

and so, when the crying starts, he is almost grateful. It snaps him back to himself as surely as cold water splashing down his neck might have done. Caleb sits upright at his desk, sucking in a breath so sharp he feels his ribs creak. For a moment, he cannot understand what has happened, and why someone is crying so loudly, so late at night (sixteen minutes past two, his brain supplies) until he realizes that there is, in fact, a baby living in the Xorhaus now, and infants are notorious for not sleeping peacefully throughout the night.

"Mrrrt?" Frumpkin leaves the bottom cylinder of his cat tower to pad over, jumping up onto Caleb's desk. The cat leans forward to sniff at his owner's fingers, and then splays himself out upon the open notebook in front of him, belly up. Caleb lets out a breath that ends in a shaky laugh. 

"The crying startled me," he explains, as if Frumpkin understands him, as if the cat asked for an explanation at all. He reaches down and gently fluffs his fingers through the soft belly fur. "I am alright."

Still, something prickles at the edge of his mind, some sense of danger he cannot shake, as if he knows instinctively that the wolf still remains, hidden in some place just out of sight, some shadowed corner. Caleb looks around his room, over his shoulder, and finds himself alone-- because of course he is. He is alone, and Trent is not here, and neither is Astrid or Eodwulf, or his parents, _Una and Leofric, his mother's soft hand on his cheek and his father's stern, proud gaze as he plays his violin for them_ \--

"Enough," he says, and stands abruptly, pushing away from his desk. He lifts one hand to his forehead and the other to his mouth, biting the space before the first knuckle on his index finger until the copper tang of his own blood touches his tongue. The sharp pain as his teeth dig into the scarred, blackened flesh is enough to help center him, for a moment or two, but he can feel the anxiety clawing, grasping, pulling him back down beneath the cloying waves. _Not enough_ , he realizes, and he thinks about the candles on his desk, and the way flames might feel upon his open palms, and suddenly his room is stifling and tight and he must get _out_.

He turns and lurches for his door, and he hears a faint _thump_ as Frumpkin follows him. He cannot get out quickly enough, and his mind-- _always moving, always seeking_ \-- searches for something, anything to latch onto. Anything to give him purpose now, in this moment, to distract him from the shadows looming at his back. 

The crying baby is as good an excuse as any, he reasons internally. Doubtless Yasha and Beau will have her in hand shortly, but seconds have passed ( _fifty two seconds precisely since he stood up from his desk_ ) and still he can hear Marigold as she cries, and he decides that it will hurt no one if he simply goes to check. 

The nursery was once the guest room of the Xorhaus, which means that it is upstairs. It seems a long way to go for Caleb, who suddenly cannot remember how to make his legs work as he needs, but eventually he manages to find a way to get them to move, and he is on his way, deciding that the exercise can only help him, at this point. Perhaps, if he works off some of the energy buzzing under his skin, he will not feel the need to press the burning end of a cigarette out against his skin. 

(He does not even have cigarettes.)

(Bren smoked. Caleb does not.)

He wrenches open the door and stumbles out into the Study, which he knows only because it is the room outside of his. Any identifying characteristics are lost as he walks, simple, non-specific shapes that dance in his vision. If he focused, he thinks he could name them-- chair, rug, door-- but his heart and mind are racing, and he is lucky he can even walk, and so the best he can do at the moment is trace the most familiar path and hope for the best. His only consistent sensation is that of Frumpkin as he follows close, his fur brushing Caleb's bare ankles. 

Time seems to pass all at once and not at all, but Caleb suddenly finds himself at the base of the stairs which lead to the second floor. He is mere seconds away from starting up them (when did they become so dauntingly tall?) when a thought occurs to him. Rather, his senses finally catch up to his brain, and he realizes that the crying is much nearer than he thought. It does not seem to be coming from the nursery at all, or even from Yasha and Beauregard's room. 

It seems to be coming from the other side of the near wall which means, Caleb realizes, that it's coming from the kitchen.

There are a million logical explanations, of course, a hundred thousand different reasons Marigold could be in the kitchen, but it occurs to him that it could be _trouble_ , that she may be in danger in some way, and a lack of sleep and panic sends him hurtling out into the foyer and through the Dining Room.

His inability to focus on his surroundings means that he does not see the chair pushed out from the table until it's much too late. He stubs all five toes on one foot, and when he jerks forward in shock his knee catches the corner of the table. He loses his balance and goes crashing to the floor, and the only thing he can think, as his cheekbone meets the tile, is that he very much wishes they had thought to put a rug down. 

For several long seconds, Caleb is aware of nothing. He is not unconscious-- his eyes are open, he can see-- but everything seems far away and muffled, like he's underwater. He lies on his side, numb and cold and empty, and thinks that this is not how he wanted to spend his night, not at all the way he'd planned for things to go. Then again, very few things go well for Caleb, at least so far as his own itinerary has been concerned. 

Distantly, he becomes aware of noise close by. The first sound he identifies is Frumpkin, who is meowing anxiously near his head. The second is a voice, one speaking in Common, and he can't quite understand what it is they're saying, but it seems urgent, so he tries to focus. He shifts, very slowly, until he can look around. It hurts his face to do it. 

He sees a smudge of blue in the doorway leading to the kitchen. He blinks, owlishly, and gradually the blue begins to take on the familiar shape of Jester, and the noise begins to take on the familiar shape of _words_.

"--leb, Caleb! Are you alright? What _happened_?!" Jester is dressed in her pajamas, all soft pink flannel and flushed blue skin, and he sees with some interest that she seems to be holding Marigold in both arms, which is confusing, for a moment, because he had expected Beau or Yasha to have her, but not Jester, somehow. Perhaps the crying was too much for the tiefling to ignore? She is very kind-hearted, after all, and he can easily picture her taking a sobbing baby into her arms, soothing her, rocking her-- ah, but she is speaking, still. To him. 

"Jester," he says, and her name is always sweet in his mouth, even when it feels like his cheek might be swelling. 

Abruptly, his vision swims, and he has to put his head back down. The last thing he perceives before he dips down into proper unconsciousness is Jester running towards him, and the taller, white-haired shape of Yasha close behind her. 

Then he closes his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> listen, i love caleb, but that boy has some Bad Coping Mechanisms and u cannot convince me otherwise
> 
> hey so if anyone wants to volunteer to beta these chapters for me i'd be super grateful...


	4. true blue, all through

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which jester is fine, and so is caleb. really. honestly.

It bothers her that Caleb is so easy to move.

Yasha doesn't even have to help, really, Jester just passes Marigold back to her and then bends down to Caleb, and it only takes, like, the most basic effort to shift him until she can sit him up and let him rest against the nearest wall.

Belatedly it occurs to her that Veth is right when she says Caleb should eat more.

"Is he okay?" Yasha asks, sounding only marginally less concerned than Jester is, and probably only because she's trying not to upset Marigold, who has only just stopped crying. "Should you move him? What if he hurt his neck?"

Inwardly, Jester curses, because she hadn't thought of that, hadn't even considered it, and it really sort of bothers her that she didn't. "I don't think so, I think he's okay," she says, her voice higher-pitched than she would like it to be. "He was talking for a second, he moved his head, so probably he didn't break anything, probably?" His eyes are still closed, though, and his cheek is still swelling up, and Frumpkin is sitting on his leg and meowing pitifully, and to say that Jester is concerned would be an understatement.

And that's fine, isn't it? Being worried about her friend, that's fine, it's not bad, she doesn't need to find another way to feel about it. She just needs to help him.

Her first instinct is to find Caduceus, but he's all the way at the top of the house, on the roof, probably sleeping in the garden, and she's afraid of letting Caleb sit here for much longer, because he hit his _head_ , and that isn't good, and she might not heal very often, might prefer to use the smaller, more fun magic that lets her have play pranks, lets her turn on lights when she needs to startle someone or make her voice louder for performances, just a little, and sure, she's really good at spitting a curse in Infernal that leaves whoever it is who hurt her feeling a good sting, but she can heal, she _can_ , and she will.

You know. If The Traveler lets her, which, she doesn't know why he wouldn't. He _likes_ Caleb.

 _Hello, Traveler!_ She sing-songs in her head, and thinks really, really hard about a mane of bright red hair, and a green suit, and the mischievous grin that always made her feel not-alone when she was smaller. _I was wondering if maybe you could do me a favor, maybe?_

The response isn't immediate, and Jester worries that maybe he won't answer, maybe he's busy with something, some business or some party, except that he usually always answers her in some way or another-- Caleb shifts a little, which is a good sign, but his eyes don't open and he makes a pained noise, and Jester's eyes widen. She considers calling for an ambulance (except Caleb _hates_ hospitals), or running to get Caduceus (but the roof suddenly seems so far away, and she doesn't want Caleb to start, like, bleeding out of his ears or something while she's gone), and she's just about to tell Yasha that she doesn't know what to do when, in her head, she hears a sleepy mumble.

 _The one time I try to sleep early, you want a late-night favor,_ says The Traveler's rich voice in her head. He sounds amused. _I was trying to get rest before I meet the little thing tomorrow. What's the matter? Need a juicy bit of gossip? A story?_

 _Traveler!_ Jester sags with relief. _So, okay, so Caleb just fell! And he hit his head, and I think he might be unconscious, and maybe he broke his cheek bone, because it's swelling up a lot?_ She imagines taking in a deep breath, and then does it in real life, since it feels like she could use it. _And so I was wondering if maybe you could help me to heal him, maybe, please, because I'm worried that his brains are going to start coming out of his ears or something, and--_

 _Alright, alright,_ The Traveler soothes, evidently having picked up on her distress. He chuckles wryly. _Mortals are so fragile. With me, then, I'll help you fix him up. Well,_ she hears him sigh, _physically, anyway. There's not much I can do about everything else. Even I'm not that powerful._

The power that flows through her then is familiar and warm. She puts her hands on either side of Caleb's face, her thumb gingerly stroking his swollen cheekbone, and she feels The Traveler's hands sliding down her arms until his long fingers join with hers. There is a faint green glow beneath her palm.

Healing is always a little weird. It's like suddenly she can feel everything about the person she's working on, in a sort of weird abstract way, and she can feel where the things are that are wrong. She feels that now, touching his face; there's a little crack in the bone, a few inches down from the corner of his eye, and bruising, and swelling, and then beyond _that_ \--

Jester's breath catches. "Oh, _Cay_ -leb," she whispers.

It isn't like she's never healed him before. Accidents are bound to happen, especially when they're on tour, and Caduceus isn't always around to patch them up. She's mended the odd scrape or cut or even once a rash (Mollymauk never explained where it came from, and actually, she didn't ask, anyway), but it's always been sort of easy surface level stuff. Even when that _thing_ happened with Lorenzo, it was mostly Caduceus keeping Mollymauk breathing, and the rest of them were either waiting for the paramedics or beating the shit out of that big stupid oni-whatever and his group.

That's all to say that this is probably the first time she's ever had a real in-depth look at Caleb, physically, and the things she's feeling-- bones mended, scars healed, burns and blisters-- and really, it isn't like she didn't _know_ he's been through some really bad things, like, he's definitely told them enough for her to get that, and Veth is protective of him for a reason, definitely, but to actually be here, right now, basically holding the evidence of it all in her hands, all these old scars and wounds and aches and pains--

\--and _on top of that_ is all the recent stuff she can sense, because she can definitely tell that he hasn't been sleeping like he's supposed to, or eating like he should, and she's _pretty sure_ some of the burns she's feeling on his upper forearms are fresher than the others, and that means-- that is, she _thinks_ that means--

 _Focus,_ the Traveler says in her mind, and she swallows the lump in her throat and lets the firm strength of his ancient magic make her solid. She feels his approval. _Good. Worry about all that later. For now, let's just get him back on his feet._

There's some weird almost-bruising on his brain that she realizes probably means he has a concussion, so she does her best to mend that without digging in any deeper than she needs to. She doesn't feel any bleeding inside him, which is really good, because she was definitely, for sure worried about that. Otherwise it just seems like he's just, like, really really tired, and hungry, and she's definitely gonna talk to him about that, because _Caleb!_

His eyelids flutter, and Jester gasps, "Caleb!" But he flinches at the volume, and so she drops her voice to a whisper as she asks, "Are you awake? Can you hear me?"

He groans. " _Ja_ ," he says, but he still sounds distant, sort of far away, and he still hasn't opened his eyes yet.

Yasha breathes a long sigh of relief from behind her. "It's good that he's talking, right?" She asks. "Should I go get Caduceus, or...?"

"I think he's okay," Jester answers, her brows furrowed together in concern. "I mean, I'm pretty sure I healed the things that were problems, you know? It was all, like, pretty minor stuff. I think maybe he's just winded, you know?"

"Winded," Caleb repeats. He blinks his eyes open, winces, and squishes them closed. " _Ja._ That is... _Ich bin..._ " He swallows hard, and then whispers, "Frumpkin? _Where..._ "

The cat in question meows and climbs into his owner's lap, putting both his paws on Caleb's chest. He starts to knead, like he's making biscuits, his claws pulling Caleb's shirt back and forth. 

Caleb winces, like maybe it hurts him some, but he does reach up and smooth a hand down Frumpkin's back, so Jester figures maybe it hurts in, like, a relaxing sort of way? Like a really good massage, maybe. 

"What happened?" Yasha asks, which is a pretty good question. 

Caleb inhales. "I was... ah, Was ist das Wort..." His head tilts back, touching the wall, and he starts muttering to himself in Zemnian, like he's already forgotten they're there, and he's here with them. Jester bites her bottom lip. She's pretty sure this is more like a panic attack than a brain injury, since she didn't feel anything like that when she was healing him, and since she knows sometimes that happens to Caleb, anyway, just because Veth has mentioned it. 

Usually, though, he handles it himself, hiding away somewhere to recollect his thoughts, and usually Veth is there, or Caduceus, and one time Mollymauk, and she tries very hard to remember what it is that they do for him, how they make him focus. 

She still has her hands on his face; she slides her fingers until they're cupping his jaw. "Caleb," she says his name firmly. "Can you look at me?"

He hesitates, and then his eyes open and he meets her gaze, and there's something so strange about how he's looking at her, something old and haunted, like he's maybe seeing someone else. " _Ja,_ " he answers her, his voice weak. "Hello."

Despite herself, Jester grins. "Hi," she responds. "Do you know who I am?"

He blinks. "Ah... Astrid," he murmurs, almost wistful. 

It isn't the first time he's called her that, although he probably doesn't remember it, since he'd been sort of drunk, then. She shakes her head. "Nooo," she sing-songs. "Try again! What do I look like?"

He mutters what might be a curse under his breath, and tries to focus on her. He sighs. "You," he says, "you are blue." 

Jester nods. "Yep! I am. What else?"

"You have..." he squints. "You have horns. And freckles. Ich würde sie gerne küssen."

She doesn't understand what he's said, but it doesn't sound bad, so she nods again. "Okay. So, then, do you know who I am, then?"

After a long moment, Caleb swallows. "Jester," he says, and then shifts a little under her touch. "I am-- what happened? I was working, and I heard crying..."

"It was Marigold," Yasha tells him. "She was hungry. Were you worried?"

Caleb looks over Jester's shoulder at her, like this is the very first time he's noticed that she's there. He stares at her with a mixture of confusion and concern on his face. After a long moment, he says, "Yasha."

"Yep!" Jester pops the 'p' at the end. "It's me and Yasha and Marigold. And Frumpkin! We're all here." She shifts to get a little more comfortable, her tail curling up against her back. "So, can you tell us what happened, maybe? I know you remember because you remember, like, everything."

Caleb licks his lips, and seems to think for a second. "...I was working," he says at length. "I was-- writing, I think, but I had dozed off, and I heard the crying..." His hands are shaking where they rest on Frumpkin's back, Jester notes. She reaches down and takes them in her own, and he stares at her fingers, brow furrowed. "Ah," he says, a sound of realization. "I am panicking."

"A panic attack?" Yasha suggests.

"Yes," Caleb answers, toneless.

"It's okay, though!" Jester announces. "I mean, it will _be_ okay. Caleb," she tugs on his hands a little. "We're gonna stand up now. I'll help you, but you probably need to try to get your legs under you."

Simple enough instructions, maybe, and Caleb nods briefly in understanding. Jester stands, and pulls him up, and he manages to find his footing (and it doesn't bother her at all that he does it lifelessly, like he's some kind of weird magical golem just following orders, it _doesn't_ ). He sways, just for a second, then locks his knees. He isn't looking at her. He's looking everywhere but at her.

Jester smiles at him anyway. "Good. Okay, so now we can go in the kitchen. We're gonna get some water for you, Caleb, and then maybe something to eat, because you, like, really really need to eat, I can tell you haven't been doing that."

He dips his head. "I am sorry," he whispers, and Jester feels her heart do a terrible little twist at the guilt in his voice, like this is something he needs to feel remorse over at all. 

"It's okay," she tells him, leaning in closer. "I promise it is. Sometimes you forget, you know? No big deal. Do you want me to go get Veth, maybe?"

Caleb sucks in a breath. " _No_ ," he tells her, his eyes widening. She can almost feel his heart beating faster.

She nods hurriedly. "Okay, so, I won't do that," she comforts. "Don't worry, Caleb."

Her words seem to reassure him, and he sighs. "Sorry," he murmurs, "I am sorry-- she thinks I am doing well, and I don't want to... ruin the illusion." And that's... a lot, there is definitely a lot there, but it's sort of a can of worms Jester doesn't think Caleb's in a good place to talk about right now, since it doesn't seem like he's really doing great. She wonders if she should ask anyway, if that's what he needs, or if it's better to just leave it alone, except... 

Except leaving it alone is why he's like this, maybe? Because this isn't how she thought things were. She's always known Caleb to be... _damaged_ (which is, like, really rude, but it's true), and he's had episodes before, like that time in Rexxentrum when the stage went up in flames and he didn't talk for pretty much an entire two days, except to Veth, and some to Caduceus, but he's been doing okay, lately.

Or maybe she just thought he was. Maybe he's been doing bad this whole time, and hiding it, and she hasn't noticed, and that-- that's awful. It's awful, because it means he's been hurting and she hasn't noticed it, and she's supposed to be his friend, except the way he's talking, not even Veth knows it's been going on, and that makes it _worse_ , that he's been dealing with it all alone. Well-- alone, not counting Frumpkin, but he's a cat and there's really only so much he can do.

Her throat feels really tight, all of a sudden. She doesn't know what to say, doesn't have the right words for this. All she can do is pull him in, wrap her arms around his skinny chest and hug him tight. "It's okay, Caleb," she tell him gently. "Don't worry, okay? We'll definitely figure this out."

Like always, Caleb tenses up when she hugs him, and usually he coughs and hums with uncertainty, and maybe gives her back an awkward pat. This time, though, the rigid line of his bony shoulders sags, and he leans down, the bridge of his strong nose resting against her neck. His hands come up to cup her elbows, not quite hugging her back, but something close to it. He takes a breath, and then lets it out in one great, shuddering sigh. She hears years of exhaustion in that sigh.

Yasha touches Jester's shoulder. "What should I do?" She asks.

Some part of Jester wishes she could tell the truth-- she really doesn't know. Somehow, though, she doesn't think that would help just now. She has to be strong. She can do that, definitely. She looks at Yasha and smiles. "Could you put some of those little finger foods Caduceus made in the microwave, pretty please?" She requests. "I think maybe Caleb will feel better after he eats something, you know?"

Yasha nods, and steps back into the kitchen. Jester watches her go, and then sighs and squeezes Caleb gently around the middle. "Come on," she says, gentle but cheerful. "Let's go get you something to eat."

* * *

Caleb eats the food she puts in front of him, and he drinks the water she sets down, and when she leads him back up to his room he goes without argument. He doesn't complain when she blows out the candles on his desk, or when she makes him sit in the bed, or even when she makes him lie down on it. He just kind of curls up on his side with his back to her, so she pulls his blanket up over him and watches Frumpkin jump up onto the bed, and turns off his light and walks out, but she leaves the door open just a crack. The light from the hallway falls inside, and Jester stands there for a few minutes, until she sees Caleb's hand lift up to stroke over Frumpkin's head, until she hears him speaking, muttering softly in Zemnian. 

It's only then that she leaves, walks back to the kitchen where Yasha is waiting with Marigold, and sits down at the little bar they have, her tail curling around the legs of the bar stool as she leans forward.

Yasha watches her for a few seconds before she says, "What was that all about?"

Jester groans, and puts her hands to her head, because she doesn't _know_ , is the thing. She really doesn't. "Oh my gosh, Yasha, that's a really good question," she says instead, without any of her usual enthusiasm or emphasis. She rubs the base of her horns with her fingers, then sits up a little and loos down at her hands. She needs to repaint her nails, soon-- the polish is starting to chip. "I don't know, actually, you know?"

Yasha nods, adjusting Marigold in her arms. She has her shirt partway up and she's feeding the baby, and doesn't seem very shy about it, which is probably because she and Jester are really good friends, probably, and Jester's seen her naked before. She's seen all of The Mighty Nein naked, actually, they've gone to a spa once or twice and spent time in one of those big baths with lots of oils and soaps, and that's starting to sound _really good_ right now, actually, and-- Jester realizes she's maybe getting off the topic.

"I've never seen him like that before," Yasha continues, her brow all furrowed together. She's rocking back and forth a little, soothing the baby. 

"Me, either," Jester admits, resting her chin on her hand. When she thinks about it, though... "Well, except for maybe after the fire that one time? Or, um, or once or twice when we were on tour and he wasn't maybe sleeping like he should have, but usually Veth is right there, you know? Or Beau, or even maybe Caduceus or Molly. And it's never been all... like that," she huffs. "Like, it feels like this has been going on for awhile, right? Or maybe because you didn't heal him, you didn't get that impression, maybe."

"No, it definitely seemed like a... lingering issue," Yasha decides. She's quiet, for a moment, pensive, before she takes in a breath and says, "What do we do?"

And that's the question Jester has been dreading for the last, like, twenty minutes, because she doesn't know that either, does she? She _doesn't know_ , because she _didn't know_ this was happening, that Caleb was suffering like this. He's always been focused on work, but it's never occurred to her that maybe it's not healthy, maybe he takes it too far, maybe he does things like doesn't eat or doesn't sleep or gives himself _burns_ \--

But Yasha doesn't know that, and Yasha probably doesn't _need_ to know that.

"Um," she says, stalling for time. She's trying not to think about how guilty she feels. She's let this happen to her friend, hasn't been there enough for him. She's been so caught up in her own life, and The Traveler, and Fjord and Mollymauk... "Well. So I was thinking we should tell Veth, maybe, except he said he didn't want that, so? So, I don't really know that, either." She swings her legs back and forth. "Caduceus would be the next best thing, I think? Except I don't wanna tell him about it unless Caleb says it's okay, so, I would have to talk to him first. And I don't know if he's in a good space to talk right now."

"Maybe not _now_ now," Yasha concedes. "But tomorrow? I don't know," she sighs. "I'm... not the best person for this sort of thing, I don't think."

Jester laughs a little. "I think you're okay at it! And, you know, better than Beau."

Yasha huffs. "She's getting better at it," she mutters in defense of her wife. "With practice. I don't know. Maybe..." She leans back against the fridge. "...maybe it'd be better to wait until tomorrow to decide. It's late." 

"Yeah," Jester nods, because that's true, it is late. She's tired, too, and she wants to sleep, but also she's worried about Caleb, so she isn't sure she wants to go back upstairs yet. "Maybe I should ask Frumpkin to find me if something happens?"

Yasha raises an eyebrow. "Frumpkin's... a cat," she says at length, and waits, like she's hoping Jester will fill in the blankets herself which, alright, she _does_ , but that's besides the point.

"Caduceus can talk to animals! So I could too, maybe," is her response. "Also, Frumpkin is a _really really smart_ cat, so probably we wouldn't even need magic to do it, probably." She looks back at Yasha, and watches her for a few seconds before she giggles. "Does that feel _weird_?" She asks, pointing to Marigold.

The aasimar breathes out a laugh. "Definitely weird," she confirms. "She's almost done, I think. Do you want to burp her?"

Jester reaches out excitedly. "Yes!" She answers, totally willing to take whatever chance she can to hold the baby. She _kind of totally_ adores Marigold, so she takes her eagerly when Yasha hands her over, and rests her against her shoulder to pat her back. The baby gurgles softly, huffs little breaths, and then lets out a small belch. Jester giggles. "Aww, baby burps are, like, the cutest thing ever!"

"It's better than when it comes from the other end," Yasha says as she readjusts her shirt, but there's a fond smile on her face. She crosses her arms and slowly leans back, hips against the counter. "...I wish I knew what to do," she mutters. "Caleb is... there are things I understand about him, I guess, but it's... hard, to know what to say to him." She looks pensive, and Jester perks up a little.

"What things do you know? I mean, that you understand," she asks. Yasha shakes her head, though.

"Not my story to tell. Sorry." She looks genuinely remorseful when she says it, too, so Jester believes her. And she gets it, really, because secrets-- everyone needs some secrets, right? Sort of? Like how she doesn't tell anyone about the secret diary to the Traveler she still keeps, not the one she lets them see her writing and drawing dicks in, but the one she has tucked up under her mattress, the one she only writes in at night, when her room seems dark and lonely, and she can't stop thinking about how much she misses her Mama, sometimes, or when she has one of those dreams where it's still a year ago, when she and Fjord were still _a thing_ , still making it work, when it had been sort of like one of her romance novels, a little bit, _gusty breaths and ripped bodices_ , that sort of thing.

When she wakes up from a nightmare about that time with Lorenzo, when he'd hurt her and Fjord and Yasha and then almost killed Molly, and she hadn't cried then until she saw her purple friend in the ambulance, barely breathing...

And the thing about the Traveler is that he always knows just what to say. It's maybe just a testament to how well he knows her, that the words he leaves scribbled in the margins of that secret diary always make her feel better, always make that knot in her chest go loose.

 _Fjord is a pickle-colored idiot,_ , that was one of the good ones, or, _your mother is just a plane ride away_ , and that one was true, and, _get something terribly gaudy for your friend, it might make him feel better while he's in the hospital,_ because Artie gives good advice, he always--

Jester blinks. "Oh," she says, as realization dawns. Then she grins. "Oh! Okay! Okay, I know what to do!" Marigold nuzzles against her shoulder, and she pats her back again, just in case she has to burp another time, maybe.

Yasha raises her eyebrows. "What is it?" 

Jester's smile feels radiant, and her ears are perked and her tail tip is curling up towards her back. She's excited. "I'll ask the Traveler for advice! He likes Caleb, you know? He says he's _very magically gifted_ for a human." She sighs happily. "He'll know what to do."

Yasha stares at her, and then takes in a deep breath. "Oh," she responds, just as Marigold burps again, and then spits up all down the back of Jester's pajamas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is a little shorter than the others, but it's mostly because i have Some Plans for the next one. the traveler and his shenanigans deserve my due diligence, after all!


End file.
